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Authors: Laura Thompson
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cry. In February 1915 he had received the DSO, having been badly wounded when the 10th Hussars were attacked early in the war. He returned to active service as soon as possible, and died not long afterwards. His wife Helen was three months’ pregnant; when she gave birth to a daughter, Clementine (who in 1937 would accompany Unity and Hitler to the Bayreuth Festival), David became heir to Lord Redesdale.
Aged thirty-six and with one lung, he had obviously been unsuited to active service, but he joined up anyway. Until the death of his brother he may have been glad of the war. Again it was a solution, of sorts, to the problem of what to do. Contented though he was in his family life, he undeniably burst forth when let loose, in the vast expanses of Ontario or upon the Oxfordshire land; one has the sense of a tame tiger padding back and forth to The Lady every day, longing to spring and flex its unused muscles. Small wonder, really, that David persuaded doctors to let him go to France as part of a group of officer reinforcements. He was not remotely fit enough, but in April 1915 he was made transport officer – in theory a less strenuous post, except that the appointment was instantly followed by the 2nd Battle of Ypres. David’s efficient bravery in directing operations, leading wagons through the town at full gallop under heavy bombardment, sometimes twice nightly, surely proves that he should have had a military career; being robbed of it was part of what left him directionless. The battalion was never without supplies and did not lose a single man. It was David’s finest hour. In a way he probably enjoyed it, but the strain was great, and horribly increased by grief for Clement. The middle years of the war were tough – Sydney was also struggling, living with five young children in a little house in Oxford, deprived of her husband’s salary from The Lady – although on one of his leaves they managed to conceive Jessica, born in September 1917, not long after David was invalided home for good. By that time he was the 2nd Lord Redesdale. Dressed in his uniform, he took his seat in the Lords.
Bertie had died in August 1916. He had published his Memories a few months earlier, after the death of Clement: a final act of defiant vitality. He bequeathed to David around £17,000 and 36,000 acres. There should have been more money – Thomas Bowles left twice as much in 1921 – but the Redesdales had lived in that grand fin-de-siècle way that implied belief in an infinity of munificence; Bertie’s widow Clementine, daughter of an earl, who moved to Northumberland and died in 1932 leaving £1,667 13s 8d, had probably never conceived such a thing as a day of financial reckoning. She had spent freely during her marriage, although the real expense had been the rebuilding of Batsford. As soon as he acquired the house, David knew that he would have to sell. There was simply not enough money to run such a place. Nevertheless the Mitford inheritance was considerable: relatively light on cash, but a treasure trove of land, furniture and paintings. A great deal of disposable wealth, in other words, which was extremely fortunate for a man like David. He began casting off in May 1917, when Batsford was first advertised for sale (‘Tudor domestic reproduction in Bourton stone’... ‘Park covers 350 acres’... ‘part of villages and Moreton-in-Marsh, about 800 acres of woodland...’). Thereafter he never really stopped. He was like Nancy’s fictional Lord Fortinbras, selling off everything in order to stave off want. In fact David was so blessed with possessions that he could hold on to many wonderfully civilized items, such as his father’s collection of Chinese and Japanese screens. But the recital of what went to auction in just a couple of years – a Reynolds that made £14,800; a collection of Bertie’s oriental porcelain that sold for £4,600; thousands of acres at Otterburn, Northumberland (‘coal deposits possibly
Aged thirty-six and with one lung, he had obviously been unsuited to active service, but he joined up anyway. Until the death of his brother he may have been glad of the war. Again it was a solution, of sorts, to the problem of what to do. Contented though he was in his family life, he undeniably burst forth when let loose, in the vast expanses of Ontario or upon the Oxfordshire land; one has the sense of a tame tiger padding back and forth to The Lady every day, longing to spring and flex its unused muscles. Small wonder, really, that David persuaded doctors to let him go to France as part of a group of officer reinforcements. He was not remotely fit enough, but in April 1915 he was made transport officer – in theory a less strenuous post, except that the appointment was instantly followed by the 2nd Battle of Ypres. David’s efficient bravery in directing operations, leading wagons through the town at full gallop under heavy bombardment, sometimes twice nightly, surely proves that he should have had a military career; being robbed of it was part of what left him directionless. The battalion was never without supplies and did not lose a single man. It was David’s finest hour. In a way he probably enjoyed it, but the strain was great, and horribly increased by grief for Clement. The middle years of the war were tough – Sydney was also struggling, living with five young children in a little house in Oxford, deprived of her husband’s salary from The Lady – although on one of his leaves they managed to conceive Jessica, born in September 1917, not long after David was invalided home for good. By that time he was the 2nd Lord Redesdale. Dressed in his uniform, he took his seat in the Lords.
Bertie had died in August 1916. He had published his Memories a few months earlier, after the death of Clement: a final act of defiant vitality. He bequeathed to David around £17,000 and 36,000 acres. There should have been more money – Thomas Bowles left twice as much in 1921 – but the Redesdales had lived in that grand fin-de-siècle way that implied belief in an infinity of munificence; Bertie’s widow Clementine, daughter of an earl, who moved to Northumberland and died in 1932 leaving £1,667 13s 8d, had probably never conceived such a thing as a day of financial reckoning. She had spent freely during her marriage, although the real expense had been the rebuilding of Batsford. As soon as he acquired the house, David knew that he would have to sell. There was simply not enough money to run such a place. Nevertheless the Mitford inheritance was considerable: relatively light on cash, but a treasure trove of land, furniture and paintings. A great deal of disposable wealth, in other words, which was extremely fortunate for a man like David. He began casting off in May 1917, when Batsford was first advertised for sale (‘Tudor domestic reproduction in Bourton stone’... ‘Park covers 350 acres’... ‘part of villages and Moreton-in-Marsh, about 800 acres of woodland...’). Thereafter he never really stopped. He was like Nancy’s fictional Lord Fortinbras, selling off everything in order to stave off want. In fact David was so blessed with possessions that he could hold on to many wonderfully civilized items, such as his father’s collection of Chinese and Japanese screens. But the recital of what went to auction in just a couple of years – a Reynolds that made £14,800; a collection of Bertie’s oriental porcelain that sold for £4,600; thousands of acres at Otterburn, Northumberland (‘coal deposits possibly
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